My year watching Bolton Wanderers: Chief football writer Marc Iles's press box tales

NOTHING summed up the weirdly voyeuristic 2020/21 season quite like watching Wanderers celebrating promotion with fans outside the UniBol while I was sipping red wine in a hotel room 250 miles away.

Several hours earlier I had watched Ian Evatt’s side wipe the floor with Crawley to secure third spot and a return to League One at the first time of asking.

The turnaround in fortunes from the start of the year had been quite breath-taking but several months later I have now come to fully understand that this team is capable of flitting between such brilliance before lurching to the other side of the scale without warning.

There I was, the smell of Champagne still in the nostrils, crashing out a stream of stories from players who had walked around deliriously after the final whistle blew, few able to put properly into context what an incredible ride it had been.

Supporters, of course, were well versed in watching the action from their laptops by that stage – in fact they had no choice. The pandemic meant that barring a few sneaky folk who managed to watch games at Carlisle or Cheltenham the previous year, nobody had actually seen Ian Evatt’s side play ‘live’ at all.

The return of fans was so eagerly awaited at that point, with most willing to give their right arm for a chance to queue for a half time pie and pint, or to freeze in the icy Horwich wind and rain watching their team.

It is odd to think that several months later – Bolton’s last match before that flipping virus stopped the club in their tracks once again – the destructive behaviour of a small number of supporters at Accrington was being debated, as football quickly lapsed straight back into old habits.

Between Crawley and a December night in Lancashire my own year watching Wanderers had been punctuated too. Twice side-lined because I was a ‘close contact’ and once by Covid itself, my normally exhaustive list of away days this season has been reduced.

I watched Wanderers bow meekly out of the FA Cup to Stockport with a wild temperature – still delivering a match report on the whistle from the TV, mind – and had the luxury of a day off when they were beaten at Wycombe, as our young digital lad Dan Barnes took the reins.

In between, this return to League One has been a strange odyssey, revisiting old stomping grounds, coastal yomps and a nightmarish roundabout in Plymouth which will live long in the memory.

First, let us tip a nod to pre-season. Fans officially returned for a thrilling home game against MK Dons on August 7 but before that, we saw them in smaller numbers at places like Longridge Town, FC United, Atherton Colls and Barrow.

What struck me quickly was how much I had missed the noise. Listening to Matt Gilks’ relentless commentary and some of the fruity language that could come out of the technical areas was okay for a while, but it pales in comparison to the oohs, aahs and playful banter of watching Bolton on the road.

Odd though it may seem some 17 years into this job, I was also surprised by how many of the faces I knew, folk who normally nod in recognition shopping in Asda or queuing at Starbucks, revelling in the chance to watch their heroes in the sunshine.

The first real away trip of the season was AFC Wimbledon, and a rare chance to visit a new ground, leaving just Sutton, Harrogate, and Brentford’s new one to tick off on my list for the 92.

Though surrounded by huge tower blocks vaguely reminiscent of playing a game in the middle of Minecraft, the new Plough Lane was smart and the people – as ever – hugely helpful. The football wasn’t bad either, despite Bolton letting a two-goal lead slip to draw the game 3-3.

Lincoln was next and long after Antoni Sarcevic had netted a memorable winner, I was still filing copy from a darkened Sincil Bank. Evidently, my departure from the ground was a bit on the late side, and I managed to get myself locked in.

Wanderers had beaten Championship Barnsley on penalties to progress to the second round of the Carabao Cup, earning a spicy away tie at Wigan Athletic. Around 4,000 tickets were eagerly gobbled up by the Whites faithful, setting up a big game feel. But any buzz I had disappeared a good few days before the match after some nasty emails sent to our podcast which overstepped and boundaries of taste and decency.

As ever, the welcome at the DW Stadium was great, and though Bolton lost on penalties with Nathan Delfouneso the unlucky man on the night, the presence of that away following made it feel like the biggest occasion in some time.

Walking back to the car after the game – and with some of those emails weighing on my mind – I could have done without a group of people jumping out of the shadows. Thankfully, they were Bolton supporters who had been in the hospitality suites, only vaguely aware of who I worked for or what happened on the pitch!

On to Cambridge and a road trip with Jack Dearden that was inevitably going to take in a pre-match café of some sort.

Jack’s nose for these things is generally quite good but as the Abbey Stadium approached in the distance, eating options were thin on the ground and he began to get twitchy. And so, hitting a new pre-match low, I agreed to eat at a McDonald’s.

Touring around with BBC Manchester’s finest, I do get to sample some of the UK’s ‘top’ eating establishments. A couple of weeks later, an overnighter in Ipswich led us to dine out at a Wetherspoons, which had presumably just missed out on its Michelin star.

If Portman Road was closer to Bolton, it would be my favourite away ground. As it is nearer to The Hague than The Haulgh, getting there also tends to take a chunk out of your week. This is especially the case when driving with Jack and his erratic satnav, which gave us a rural detour at Grantham which made me question which side of the Channel we were on.

The trip was worth it in the end, though, as Wanderers won a crazy game 5-2 and exorcised some of the ghosts of that play-off defeat two decades ago.

Sunderland is another of my favourite grounds but stepping into enemy territory with Middlesbrough legend David Wheater in tow was a first.

Fair play to Wheats, not only did he bring enough snacks to sink a battleship, he also marched into the official Sunderland fans’ café and ordered a round of bacon butties.

For a Bolton equivalent, imagine Jonny Evans walking into the Harvester on a matchday and tucking into a chicken and rib combo in full view.

Charlton proved a weird trip. Staying in nearby Greenwich, and dining (of course) at The Valley Café prior to the game, it was all very normal up to kick-off.

Quite unexpectedly, Wanderers went goal crazy on the night and whacked their opponents 4-1. After the game we attempted to get an Uber back to the hotel – but despite the best efforts of the Charlton staff, our driver failed to grasp that we were stood outside the main reception.

After being guided in by one helpful chap – on foot – Jack and John (from the MEN) jumped into the back seat. I opened the passenger door to see a mountain of discarded bottles, fast food wrappers, crisp packets and God knows what else which filled the foot well.

“Come on, it’s fine,” chirped the driver.

Tentatively, I tried to sit down, hampered by the fact the seat was also at a 45 degree angle, meaning my face was six inches from the dashboard. The Uber driver seemed unconcerned, setting off in the wrong direction at speed.

Ten minutes later we reached our hotel – but not before we were treated to an acapella version of Vanessa Williams’ hit ‘Save the Best for Last’ by the man at the wheel.

Suffice it to say, the only tip discussed that night was the state of his vehicle.

We had the pleasure of Alan Gowling’s company for the trip to Sheffield Wednesday, where Wanderers wasted a load of chances to lose the game 1-0.

Another post-match diversion sent us on a white-knuckle ride through the Pennines whilst we listened to the Rugby League Grand Final on the radio. I genuinely never knew roads could be so steep.

Plymouth was one of the wettest games I have ever covered – and had the storms arrived an hour earlier, the trip would surely have been wasted.

The football was miserable, and we now know the aftermath of the defeat hastened Antoni Sarcevic’s departure to Stockport. But a bad night was made worse when a certain BBC commentator failed to remember his way back to the hotel and left us circling the same roundabout and one-way system a dozen times, missing last orders.

We certainly covered some miles during October and November, and another long journey to Portsmouth proved fruitless for Bolton. The day started out well with a gorgeous walk along the seafront but after getting into Fratton Park for 12.45pm, we found Pompey were the only club (with the exception of Oldham) who stubbornly refused to open their doors to visiting press until 1pm.

During the lockdown you could understand the need to avoid people congregating and could forgive clubs who took a more prescriptive view of the EFL regulations. But with other local journalists already setting up inside, it was a bit disappointing after such a long jaunt to be left sitting like a naughty schoolboy on the floor while I started Matchday Live.

I will add, though, that once we got into the ground, Portsmouth’s staff were a delight. And the cake helped ease the pain.

A couple of weeks later at Fleetwood, Storm Berra made the coastal conditions a bit brisk when me and Jack attempted another stroll along the prom, prom, prom. Had it not been for stumbling across a gorgeous chippy – Pisces, in case you find it – the night would have been a complete bust, because, once again, the football certainly didn’t help.

The game was only brightened up by a pitch invasion of the feathered kind. A brown duck waddled down the left wing at one point, showing up again after the final whistle for some post-match interviews.

All that leads us to Accrington. Another cracking club with one of the best matchday atmospheres I have sampled since the return of fans – albeit accounts from the Bolton camp suggest some people in the away end let themselves down a bit.

And that just about wraps up a year on the road with Wanderers. Here’s hoping 2022 brings more packed out away ends, a few more points, and just as many greasy spoon cafes!